


Learn to Live Without

by lindsayqt



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Songfic, Sorry Not Sorry, somewhat of an if/then au?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 03:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1925511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindsayqt/pseuds/lindsayqt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since Grantaire’s death, Enjolras realized he would never be the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learn to Live Without

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry not sorry. Emetophobia and maybe a panic tw (just mentions)

 

 

_You learn to take your coffee black_

_You learn to drink your whiskey neat_

_You learn to take your shower cold_

_And sleep on tired feet_

 

Since Grantaire’s death, Enjolras realized he would never be the same again.

 

It wasn’t just the little things - the fact that he could no longer drink coffee with his usual double cream, double sugar like R used to prepare it for him on cold Saturday mornings. 

 

He learned that he now had to build time for unprovoked fits of crying into his busy schedule. Something would remind him of Grantaire, and it would just _break_ him. He broke; over and over, every day.

 

_You learn to order dinner in_

_You learn to send the laundry out_

_You learn how to amuse yourself_

_You learn to live without_

 

Taire, who had always been the one between them who _didn’t_ burn everything he set his hands on, was no longer there to warm Enjolras up with a bowl of soup. Enjolras couldn’t bear to ask his friends for help, so he ordered dinner for himself, alone, every night.

 

Similarly, E had no one to spend time with anymore, and didn’t want to bother his friends with his trivial problems. He learned how to amuse himself…by pushing himself harder and harder into his work. There was no time for fun anymore, work was now the most important thing in Enjolras’ life.

 

_You tell yourself you’re rich at last in money and in time_

_You draw a bath and then unplug the phone_

_You pour yourself a Pinot Clo Du Val 2003_

_You sit a spell a queen upon her throne_

_You go to bed alone_

 

He tried to convince himself that having more time for work was good. Immersing himself into his work was what kept Enjolras alive. Sort of. Are you still considered alive when you’re dead on the inside?

 

He unplugged his phone for good one night because he knew his friends wouldn’t be interested in his grief. Without Grantaire, Enjolras had no one else to open up to anymore, but that was okay. He locked himself in his apartment and slept alone (when he _could_ sleep) every night.

 

_You learn to fall asleep alone_

_You learn to silence ticking clocks_

_You learn to pull the shades at night_

_And double check the locks_

 

Enjolras had always felt safe with Grantaire. He knew he had nothing to worry about; Grantaire was there, and everything was okay; Grantaire was all he wanted and needed in life.

 

But without him, he no longer felt safe. More and more often, he locked the doors of his apartment and pulled the shades. He was alone.

 

Enjolras had to learn to deal with sobbing until he was shaking uncontrollably and throwing up…every night. 

 

He learned.

 

_You learn to speak so calmly when_

_Your heart would like to scream and shout_

_You learn to stop and breathe and smile_

_You learn to live without_

 

His friends, though concerned, were all affected by his unexpected death. Enjolras shut himself away, and his friends were powerless. They could only watch as he slowly destroyed what was left of himself.

 

No matter how much E was struggling, he still managed to keep up with his work. He rarely spoke about his feelings; he used to be so open with them…when he had Grantaire. He proved to everyone that he could fend for himself. Could he really? No one would ever know.

 

_You find the coat and tie you thought you’d given to goodwill_

_You toss his favorite shoes onto the pile_

_You see him in the faces of the boys he left behind_

_And die a bit with every tiny smile_

_But only for awhile_

 

Once it became bearable, Enjolras went through Grantaire’s closet. He found the tux that he had worn on their wedding day, his favorite pair of shoes, the hat that Enjolras had loved to steal off of his head. He sent it all away to be donated, justifying it with the fact that it was work. He loved work now, it gave him a purpose. Whatever that new purpose _was._

 

He saw Grantaire every week, in the faces of the Les Amis. Although they were no longer planning a revolution, they still met once a week at the Musain to keep them together. Every time Courfeyrac had one of his occasional beers, it reminded him of Grantaire. Every time Jehan talked about poetry he loved with passion in his eyes, it reminded him of Grantaire. Every time Bahorel got into a bar fight to protect another one of the boys, it reminded him of Grantaire. 

 

And it killed him a little more every time.

 

But what hurt the Les Amis even more than losing their fearless leader was the fact that their indestructible Enjolras was slowly but surely destroying himself.

 

_You learn to count the quiet winds_

_An hour with no unprompted tears_

_And not to count the deadly days_

_As they fade into years_

 

It wasn’t Enjolras’ fault. His friends reminded him that at his funeral. It wasn’t Enjolras’ fault that Grantaire had died.

 

It had started like any other day; they woke up in bed together, lounged for a while before reluctantly getting up for work. They both left at the same time: Grantaire was on his way to his job curating an exhibit at an art museum. Enjolras spent his time working on cases as a lawyer at the local law firm. It was a heavy, difficult job, but Enjolras handled it. He could because he had Grantaire. Grantaire kept him grounded and gave him a reason to live.

 

That morning, as always, they said their “I love you”s, sealed them with a kiss, and set off their separate ways.

 

But that day, an hour later, Enjolras got a call from the hospital. Another driver had been texting and driving, not paying attention, and crashed into Grantaire’s car head-on in the middle of an intersection. The call completely shut him down. 

 

He hasn’t used his phone since.

 

Dreary days without Grantaire turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Months turned into years.

 

Enjolras died a little more every day without Grantaire. What did he have to live for? Criminal justice at work? The revolution he had been planning for years and put his heart and soul into had been put on hold when he lost Grantaire, and without him, he had no reason to fight anymore. Grantaire had died. He had lost already. He knew he would never be happy again.

 

His friends married, had children, and invited Enjolras to their parties occasionally. Weekly meetings stopped. Enjolras became cut off from his friends, but he had work. Work was everything to him now.

 

Enjolras had to watch his life crumble to pieces around him, and there was absolutely nothing he could do.

 

_You learn to stand alone at last_

_So brave and bold and strong and stout_

_You learn somehow to like the dark_

_And even love the doubt_

 

Enjolras was alone. Independent. He had nothing to live for without Grantaire. So he lived for himself, and so he could work for his clients. 

 

It was easier this way. To not feel anything. To work during the day, and miss Grantaire at night. He barely slept anymore; a solid four hours was a blessing. Instead, he lied awake, thinking about his 25 year old self, happy, and how much his 45 year old self missed him. He had nothing anymore.

 

_You learn to hold your life inside you_

_And never let it out_

_You learn to live and die and then to live_

_You learn to live without_

 

Enjolras never fulfilled his dream of having kids with Grantaire. If he had, maybe he would have a bit more to pour feelings into. But here he was, alive, without Grantaire, without kids, without his friends. All he had left was his work and the hope that he could get sleep that night.

 

Enjolras was lucky if Combeferre stopped by these days for a coffee (though it was mostly to check on Enjolras, not like they could do anything). 

 

He'd ask him how he was. The answer was always the same.

 

“Fine.”

 

He asked what he was up to. The answer was always the same.

 

“Work.”

 

Sometimes, Combeferre would slowly, tentatively ask if Enjolras missed Grantaire. The answer was always the same.

 

“Every moment of every day.”

 

Enjolras wondered what he had done to deserve this constant, unbearable pain. 

 

He never got an answer.

 

_You learn to live without_

_You learn to live without_

 

Twenty years ago, Grantaire had died. He didn’t know it, but Enjolras died on that day too.

 


End file.
